Leap of Faith
by artistic-soul24
Summary: Harry may fall in love pretty quickly, but he can fall out of it just as fast. A self-proclaimed "Leaper," he's never afraid to take a chance- even on a former love that caused him pain in the past. All it takes is a leap of faith.
1. Familiar Face

**Author's Note: **Wow, its been a long time since I've posted anything. Hope this isn't too bad.

* * *

He'd been through the routine before. He knew the drill- get it done as quickly as possible, with as few words exchanged as necessary. He would get in, start the general process of disentangling his life from his most recent ex, and move out. e He would leave no trace o f his presence. He'd had so much practice with this the purging act no longer took him much effort.

It was a sticky Thursday morning in mid-July, the humidity so thick Harry could feel the excess weight of the weather sitting on his slight, muscular shoulders. The windows in the small, third-story apartment he stood in were thrown open in a vain attempt to catch a cross-breeze, but the extra measure proved futile as the 22-year-old wiped away the sweat that began gathering on his forehead. On either side of him lay two boxes, one half-full with clothes he had laying around left from late nights crashing here. The other held the remainder of his personal effects: a spare toothbrush, his favorite tea mug, a much-loved paperback, and his silk black bathrobe.

Harry sighed, wondering just what it was about him that screamed "Failure to Commit." This was his fifth failed relationship within a year, the latest debacle ending in a bitter torrent of insecurity, selfishness, and general immaturity on his partner's end. He bent down and picked up a photo album from the living room floor. Flipping through it for a moment, he tossed it into one of the boxes, deciding it contained a few too many pictures of him for comfort. He didn't want to leave much behind.

The finality of a break-up, Harry felt, left little room to tarry about pretending things would mend themselves. He preferred a clean break, moving on immediately without so much as a glance back. He even went so far as to come into the apartment while his ex was at work, enabling him to avoid any apologetic goodbyes and awkward, obligatory small talk all together. The less that was said, the better it was for all parties involved- and there really wasn't much left to say once it was over.

Harry took a final run-through of the premises, making sure he thoroughly extracted his belongings. As he passed through the various rooms, he took in the familiarity of the apartment- the ivory walls that he'd helped paint, the stainless steel appliances that gleamed in spotless glory, the overly-contemporary gray furniture that had made it hard to live comfortable and think of this place as a second home- Harry pushed the thoughts from his mind, realizing that it truly no longer mattered. He no longer had a place here.

For the umpteenth time that morning, Harry analyzed how much chaos and destruction his love life had experienced over the past year. It was so unstable- he was a self-described Leaper, someone who acted on whim and took a leap of faith on every relationship that came his way. Many men loved this innocent quality in him, but lately it just left him getting burned. He was usually too eager to please, and threw everything he had into finding love. But his fatal flaw was his failure to separate his needs from his wants and his brain from his heart.

Harry concluded his tour in the kitchen, pausing only to glance at the clock before he grabbed his boxes and headed out the door, planning on dropping his stuff off at his own place. He wouldn't bother to unpack it- he knew that soon enough, he would just be relocating it to a new boyfriend's home. A boyfriend that would hopefully hold some promise this time.

And as he slipped his key under the potted plant outside the doorway, he congratulated himself on a new record. Only 49 minutes to pack up and leave. He smiled as he bounced down the poorly lit stairs two at a time.

A personal best.

* * *

"So you're telling me you're at it again?"

Harry took a long draft from his mug of firewhiskey, shaking his head as the liquid trickled down his throat. "Yeah, I'm at it again. Let me know," he finished his drink off with one more tip to his mouth, "if you think you can set me up with anyone."

Neville gave him a long, loaded look before polishing off his own drink, his skeptical eyes shifting from his friend's face to the table and back again. "I don't think I know anyone who's your type."

The two were sitting in a local bar that night, drinking to celebrate Harry's newly-obtained single status, much as they did every time. The pair, sitting across from each other at a small table towards the back of the venue, was an interesting sight. Harry, with disheveled jet-black hair just grazing the jut of his jaw, had a soft face and piercing green eyes that threatened to derail even the straightest of men. His signature rosy pout was in his usual disarming smile, and he peered coyly from under thick eyelashes at fellow customers passing their spot. His body was on the slight yet muscular side, his height around 5 feet 9.

Neville, in contrast, was slightly more angular than Harry, with a thin but healthy face, high cheekbones and a light smatter of freckles on either side of his nose. His smile, honest and inviting, made his companion's smirk seem almost deceiving in its flirtatious nature. His chestnut brown hair extended a little past the top of his ear, and his light brown eyes drew you in with a silent welcoming. Though he had filled out since his school days, his body was still long and reed-like, his height towering at around 6 feet 3.

They both wore slacks the shade of charcoal and a button-down shirt, Harry's pale blue and Neville's soft gray. They were an attractive pair, and people around them took notice as they surveyed the two with lustful eyes.

"And what, pray tell, is my type exactly?" Harry turned his attention back to his buddy with a mirth-filled gaze, intrigue gracing his features as he ran a fingertip in looping designs across the tabletop. His lopsided grin portrayed genuine interest as he raised an eyebrow. "Because it would be great to know."

He scanned the dimly lit bar as he waited for a reply, noting the rapidly waning light of the evening sky and the absence of a particular redhead companion. Ron had yet to make it to the outing, his habit of tardiness so predictable it no longer fazed either of his friends. The duo knew he would arrive late.

Sure enough, 15 minutes after the original meeting time, a flustered and sheepish Ron pulled up to their table, his 6 foot 6 frame making him easy to spot.

"Sorry guys," Ron stated as he shrugged, sitting down and waving a waitress over to their table. "I had a bit of a situation to take care of-"

Harry cut him off with a friendly clap on the shoulder. "As fascinating as your story probably is, I think it should wait for just a moment." He turned back to Neville. "So, my type?"

Ron laughed and Neville rolled his eyes at the man's persistent nature, not at all surprised at his one-track mind that made frequent appearances. But Harry was oblivious to their reactions; his eyes trailed around the bar again, catching a familiar face that made him do a double-take. He watched in mild interest as the person sat on the opposite end of the bar, not noticing a pair of green eyes seeking him out.

After a moment, the redhead's laughter stopped and he looked at Harry with pure delight. "For as long as I've known you, I still can't help but be surprised at how little you know about yourself." Neville gave him a quick nod to continue. "I'm guessing you're talking about your type concerning men?" This time Harry nodded. "Well, to put it mildly…"

He trailed off, smiling at the waitress who brought him his beer, and watching as she winked at him over her shoulder and pranced off. He flashed another sheepish grin at his companions as they shook their heads.

"What?" He tried to, unsuccessfully, appear innocent. "Am _I _not allowed to have a type too?"

Neville groaned. "Damn Ron, every female on two legs that can string a few words together is your type." He rested his chin in his hand, elbow on the tabletop as he scrutinized the tall man. "Every girl who looks at you is attractive. Every girl that has a-"

Harry cut him off. "Awkward conversation topic for the gay man in the audience, Nev."

He blinked. "Sorry Harry. Forgot that talking about female anatomy makes you queasy."

He ignored the comment. "So… my type?" he ventured again, lips pursed with impatience. He drummed his fingertips on the table, noting the familiar face now looking at him in recognition, head tilted to the side in concentration.

"Well, to put it mildly…" Ron started again, but paused.

"Let me spit it out then. You tend to gravitate towards the 'no good for you,' 'has issues committing,' and 'all I want to do is fuck you' types." Neville sighed. "Sorry to be blunt."

Harry appeared unaffected by his friend's blunt words. "Well, that seems about right." He reached over and grabbed Ron's unfinished beer, drinking the rest with a swift gulp.

The other two stared at him with a look that Harry was all too familiar with- the lecture look. They were about to tell him for the millionth time that he deserved so much better, that he was selling himself short, that he should stop settling, _blah blah blah…_

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the familiar face excuse himself from his table and slip across the room, his eyes locked on his watcher as he invited him to join him with a slight jerk of his chin.

So before his impending doom could commence, Harry stood. "Have to go pee," he offered before heading to the restroom.

He knew he shouldn't do this but the thrill of a possible impromptu rendezvous was too tempting to resist. He'd just gained his romantic freedom and already he was willing to surrender it again.

Once behind the swinging wooden door and in front of the porcelain urinal, Harry felt at peace. He let his thoughts wander as he glanced around the tiled space before locking his gaze on his host.

"Fancy seeing you here," a familiar voice whispered, sending a chill up his spine he hadn't felt in a couple of years. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Harry said nothing as he watched the speaker, his head cocked to one side and a grin dominating his face.

"Maybe a bit too long?" Harry shivered as he watched an arm snake around his waist and rested a hand on the small of his back. His shiver deepened and his breath hitched as the hand boldly slid along his spine. "Perhaps we should get reacquainted?" The hand gently pulled Harry forward inch by inch. "Familiarize ourselves again?"

Harry closed his eyes as warm lips grazed his collarbone, struggling with words as the lips travelled up his neck. He managed to form a few sentences in his head as his heartbeat quickened.

"Don't think I should revisit old habits," Harry gasped as a swift tongue traced the contour of his jaw. "What's done is done."

"Now Harry." The tongue rested momentarily behind his left ear. "You wouldn't be here if you really believed that." Both hands roamed his body now, pausing in places that made Harry blush. "Besides," the hands stilled and rested on Harry's belt, "maybe I've changed."

Harry felt it again- he felt his heart already jumping into that familiar place. He was diving head-first into a situation he knew best to avoid, and yet he couldn't help but take yet another leap of faith as his own hands found places to explore.

He knew better, but he couldn't help himself. "Well, maybe another try wouldn't hurt."

Harry felt himself pulled forward again as curious hands latched onto his waistband. Hips connected to hips, and he couldn't remember how to breathe as his feet left the ground and he was suspended by a strip of leather.

"Well now." The familiar face had a voice like velvet- smooth, seductive and convincing. "I'm glad you changed your mind."


	2. Kind of New

****

Author's Note:

This story does contain magic- it just hasn't come up yet. The general HP plots are also being ignored- let's just say the Final Battle has already occurred and certain characters that will soon appear never died.

Enjoy!

* * *

Harry's eyes fluttered open to intense midday sunshine as an arm tightened around his slim waist, drawing him further under a cave of white sheets and down pillows. He yawned, stretching his back and turning on his side, his green eyes meeting hazel as he tried to focus on the face before him. Vaguely, he remembered the night before, but pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind as soft lips pressed to his forehead.

"Morning sex kitten," his companion greeted huskily, sleepiness still draping his voice as his kiss began trailing down the side of Harry's neck. "Nice to see you stayed."

Harry remained silent, a vague flashback playing before his eyes- he'd been in this exact situation with this person before. The gravity of his newly established déjà vu made him close his eyes again.

"What, am I too ugly to look at now?" The husky voice, now fully awake, chuckled. "Funny, you didn't seem to think so last night." The kissing mission stopped, and previously occupied lips retreated a foot or so.

Harry groaned, covering his eyelids with his palms as he tried to shut out a nagging feeling that was growing inside of him. Speaking through clenched teeth, he managed to utter, "To be honest, I don't really know _what_ I was thinking last night Blaise."

He felt the mattress below him shift as Blaise rose from the bed and walked out of the room, leaving him with his thoughts. Rather late, Harry realized that what he'd just said might have been rephrased a little more tactfully, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care enough at the moment to try and remedy the situation.

Instead, Harry rose to his own feet and began gathering his clothes from the floor, which he assumed had been thrown by lustful and quick hands the previous night. He remembered the events following their arrival at Blaise's house, but the memories were a little distorted by alcohol and plain desire. He paused to pull his boxers on, noting that if Blaise decided to reenter the bedroom, he would be treated with a full view of his lovely behind.

How did he get himself in this situation? Harry gritted his teeth as he went on his knees to search for his shoes. He knew full well how this had happened- he'd been just a bit too giddy over his newly obtained single status, then threw it away in a matter of minutes to spend a night with an old flame. He'd apparated out of a bar's _bathroom_, leaving his unsuspecting friends at a table, just so he could get high on physical contact and lust.

He blamed his damn heart. Harry knew that he really didn't leave the bar last night just for sex- he had actually been hoping for a bit more than that. Like a functioning relationship. Or, at least, as functioning of a relationship as he could have, considering it would have started among the tiled walls of a public restroom. He'd been so irrational that he actually followed an ex-boyfriend into a _bathroom_- Harry just couldn't get over that fact- for the simple reason that he was looking for love. His idiotic behavior was not lost on him- he could see quite clearly that he tended to act stupid in the name of happy endings. Yet the most disturbing thing about his quest wasn't his crazy and impulsive actions. It was that he'd done just as crazy stuff before, and he would probably continue to do it.

Giving up on his shoes for the moment¸ Harry stood up again and began assembling his outfit from the night before, taking care to spell away any wrinkles with his wand. He didn't want to appear disheveled- not when he planned on going over the Neville's straight away to apologize and get his advice on his newest conundrum. And Neville was a stickler for appearances- so Harry didn't need to give him any more reasons to be unhappy with him at the moment.

As Harry finished dressing he finally spared a moment to take in the room around him. It had, after all, been a good year or so since he'd last seen this bedroom- and he hadn't exactly had the time to look at it last night. He was… a bit occupied last night.

The room reflected expensive taste, with textured mocha walls and a cherry wood floor. A chocolate-hued four-poster bed dominated the longest wall, and beneath its legs stretched a crème area rug that felt like cashmere under Harry's feet. The mattress was covered with white satin sheets and plump down pillows, both rumbled from the two bodies that previously nestled among them. One-of-a-kind abstract artwork hung in various spots in the room, and Harry shuddered to think just how much each of them cost.

He stepped closer to a painting on his right, staring at it through squinted eyes as if that would reveal what was depicted.

"You know, I'm not quite sure what it is myself," Blaise offered from across the room, startling Harry and causing him to jump. "I just bought it because it was expensive… well, you know me. I spare no costs for the best."

Indeed, Harry was familiar with Blaise's taste in decorating and life in general. He was no stranger to the gifts the hazel-eyed man was willing to shower on his partners. Nothing was too expensive for the young heir.

Harry eyed him with a wary gaze, causing Blaise to emit an amused sigh. "Harry, I'm not here to play back-and-forth games." He began walking slowly across the room, and Harry noted the freshly pressed cotton lounge pants and light v-neck sweater that hugged his body rather enticingly. He stopped a few feet short of his guest, sliding his hands into his pockets. "I just want to… well, let's just say I'm not quite the same man from a few years back."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "No one is the same person they used to be 'a few years back.' Blaise, people get older, their lives change, they make new goals…"

With a swift movement Blaise closed the gap between them and placed his hands on Harry's hips. "Exactly. No one is the same. But me especially. Harry, this probably sounds like the biggest cliché ever, but I truly have changed." He let go of his hips and moved his hands to Harry's shoulders. "I mean, just look at me."

Harry had been doing just that since Blaise made his reappearance in the room, but he tried to look beyond the muscular body that commanded his attention. He noticed that Blaise's demeanor was transformed; he used to come off as a merciless, powerful leader that never took no for an answer and always got exactly what he wanted. Which, Harry noted briefly, was what had brought them together in the first place; the two had been at the same club one night with their respective friends, Blaise had zeroed in on him from across the dance floor, and had decided- just like that- that he would leave with the raven-haired man. Even though Harry had a boyfriend at the time and in fact was there with him.

But Blaise no longer put off that air. Instead, he appeared softer and more caring in nature- though Harry's rational side remembered that appearances could be deceiving. It was mainly in his eyes- eyes so striking in hazel intensity Harry had difficulty looking into them for long.

Instead, he let his gaze travel down the rest of the man, noticing how his coffee skin glowed against the white of his sweater and his biceps rippled through his sleeves. Harry imagined how those strong arms would feel wrapped around his body again as his eyes traveled back up to his face, a shy grin meeting his curious expression. He let himself linger over the shape of his nose, the peak of his forehead, the shape of his chin- Harry took it all in, recommitting Blaise's face to memory. It was a different face than what he remembered.

Harry felt his heart screaming at him suddenly, telling him to throw all caution to the wind and just give himself to this man- again. He was willing to forget the past, willing to say it was just an unfortunate memory and it meant nothing now. But he couldn't help but wonder, as his eyes finally settled back on Blaise's, if the past could become a duplicated reality. His chances of being hurt again were pretty high. And why deliver himself into the arms of repeated history? He felt his brain try to argue with him, desperately trying to bring him to his senses.

But, as always, Harry's Leaper mentality won out and he found himself pressing his lips to Blaise's in a tentative kiss, arms wrapping around his neck as the hands on his shoulders slid back down to his hips. He let a content sigh escape, pulling away after a moment and resting his forehead on Blaise's chest.

"We'll need to talk about this," Harry whispered quietly, smiling at the scent of Blaise's cologne tickling his nose. It was a little spicy, but soothing, just like his companion's new demeanor. "But I think," he tilted his head and kissed him again, "we'll be able to work something out."

Blaise tightened his hold on his renewed lover. "Well, that works for me." He let Harry go, then turned towards his bathroom door on the opposite side of the room. He walked towards it, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "You coming?"

Harry looked puzzled. "Coming? For what?"

"Its afternoon, you've been a dirty boy, and now you need to get cleaned up." He smirked. "Showers are perfect for that."

Still confused, Harry shrugged. "So why are you going?"

"You didn't think you could possibly get clean without any help, did you? You were a _very_ dirty boy last night."

Harry nodded, finally understanding, then spelled his clothing away before streaking past Blaise into the bathroom. Blaise shook his head, his smirk transforming into a full smile as he followed his love interest in.

"Seems like we've been meeting in bathrooms a lot lately."

* * *

It was inevitable, Harry knew, but he still couldn't help but groan as Neville paced up and down the formal living room, irritation and pure concern lacing his features.

"So you're telling me, in no uncertain terms, that you're willing to just jump _back_ into the arms of someone who's hurt you before?"

Harry closed his eyes, suddenly tired, and leaned back into the overstuffed dark brown armchair he was sitting in.

He'd floo'd over to Neville's as soon as he'd finished his… _activities_ with his newish lover so he could get another perspective on his current situation. But he soon realized that was a grave mistake, judging by the way Neville was shaking his head- a signature prelude to a lecture. Harry slid down lower in his seat, realizing that his friend would soon try to talk some sense into him.

Or shove it down his throat.

Harry took this momentary silence to reflect on the sheer beauty of this room, as he did every time he visited. The walls were a buttercup yellow, contrasting with the redwood floorboards. A limestone fireplace encased an inviting fire, magically altered to cast less heat in the warmth of the summer evening. A taupe rug stretched under a chucky chestnut coffee table and plump, comfortable milk chocolate armchairs and couch. Enormous floor cushions lay scattered about, beckoning tired souls to take a load off their feet and sink into their fabric. The room was perfect in its simplicity and warmth, and Harry often found any excuse to spend even just a moment to unwind here.

Harry was tempted to relocate to one of the cushions on the floor, but the reproachful look Neville shot him froze him in his seat.

"What. In. The. Hell. Were. You. Thinking." Neville managed to force the words out through clenched teeth before flopping into a seat across from Harry and kicking his loafers off.

"Well, just the usual. I wasn't."

Neville let out a short-lived laugh, then rose his eyebrows in disapproval as he crossed his arms across his chest. His long body draped over the arms of the chair as he lay sideways, his feet suspended in midair and his head leaned back.

Harry loved this man with every fiber in his being; he was one of the most amazing friends anyone could ask for. But he often felt like he was disappointing Neville; though he knew Neville would never judge him for his flaws (and he had many) he also realized he caused the tall man a lot of unnecessary worry.

As if he could read his mind, Neville smiled and shook his head again. "You cause me a lot of worry, Harry. But only because I care about you so much." He closed his eyes and sighed. "That's what friends are for."

"I must not be holding up my end of the deal then. I hardly ever have to worry about you."

Neville responded with a chuckle. "That's because I don't do asinine things in the name of love."

Harry was surprised Neville had forgone his usual route of a lecture in favor of a more chit-chatty conversation. Which was nice. But he still wasn't sure what he should do- or if he should even do anything.

Reading Harry's mind again, Neville stated, "Harry, I can't really tell you what to do. All I can advise is caution." He sat up suddenly, and gave him a serious look. "I admire you for going after what you want without any qualms whatsoever. Just… just be careful. Guard your heart, but keep it just open enough for love to come through. When it presents itself," he added as he glanced at the clock. His demeanor became nervous, which Harry noticed immediately.

"Um, Nevs? Are you alright?" This time Harry was concerned as he gazed at his long-time friend with curiosity. He noted how Neville's hands shook slightly as he stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt self-consciously.

Distractedly, Neville nodded. "Quite alright." He began pacing again, stopping every so often to glance at the clock.

Harry thought back to another time Neville had behaved this way, reminiscent of his awkwardness back in school. He'd grown out of most of it by now, but he still had his moments. Especially when…

His expression transformed from worried to knowing as he looked his friend up and down.

"Is there a man coming over here?" Harry nodded in confirmation as Neville gave him a wide-eyed stare. "Ah… I see. Is he the future husband type or just a fuck buddy?"

Neville gave him an irritated look before sinking back down into his chair. "I don't know. Maybe both? Neither?" He groaned. "I really don't know."

"What do you want him to be? Is he special?" Harry couldn't resist letting his teasing tone slip into the second question- after all, it wasn't often he had the upper-hand like this.

"Harry…" Neville warned, then groaned again. "I don't know. I want him to be… I want this to be perfect."

Harry stood up and gave his friend a comforting pat on the back before making his way over to the fireplace. It was odd seeing his usually well-poised friend in such disarray. This man must certainly be something.

"Well, then I better get out of your way." Harry prepared himself for the floo, then turned back. "Good luck. And let me know how it goes." He smirked. "Especially if you get lucky."

He felt an object zoom behind his head right before he stepped in the floo. Harry laughed, glad his friend's horrible aim caused that giant floor cushion to miss knocking his head off.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading, and please review! Makes me update faster...


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